


The Question

by FoxRafer



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-29 17:09:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxRafer/pseuds/FoxRafer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for the <a href="http://lotr-step-kids.livejournal.com/"><b>lotr_step_kids</b></a> 12 Days of Christmas.</p>
    </blockquote>





	The Question

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [**lotr_step_kids**](http://lotr-step-kids.livejournal.com/) 12 Days of Christmas.

"I think I'm going to recreate all the paintings from the Sims. Not the ones you can buy, the ones they make themselves. See if I can pass them off as high art."

Billy didn't spare Viggo a glance, just kept his eyes on the dogs as they jogged and played ahead of them. The morning air was crisp and tangy, the day beginning with a dim wash of muted colors, the sun a matte background behind translucent clouds. Billy looked up at the bare tree limbs over their heads, traced their winding arms down to sturdy trunks. "Am I supposed to have any idea what you're on about?"

"No," Viggo chuckled.

Billy shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, felt the stiffness as he flexed and curled his fingers. Viggo had promised to make his special mulled wine tonight, secret ingredients slow-cooked on the stove until it roasted away winter chills. Billy tried to imagine that heat as another gust of wind blew into his bones.

"I didn't know you played the Sims."

"I don't."

Billy did look at him then, tried to gauge if it was worth asking the obvious but decided some things were best left unknown. Viggo's profile was a ruddy mask of sharp angles, somehow both unreadable and an open book depending on how you looked and what you were hoping to find.

Viggo began to hum "Gabriel's Message," the slightly nasal notes only just carrying across the small distance between them. Billy silently sang the counterpoint as his mind drifted back to the night before. Viggo's sudden arrival on his doorstep, an invitation accepted at the last minute, and Billy's stunned silence that played all the wrong notes.

He stole another look at Viggo and this time was met by steel blue eyes. Tomorrow there'd be hot chocolate made from scratch, and a hazelnut chocolate fondue tinged with whiskey. He hoped the day would mark a new chapter, the type poised to be set, the pages bound.

But first he had to ask the question.

Instead he only smiled and was warmed from head to toe by Viggo's answering grin.

# # #

The dogs walked and last minute supplies bought, they returned to Billy's flat still hopelessly lacking of any holiday spirit. They pulled out Billy's neglected collection of decorations, put on a few Christmas albums and tried to replace dour with festive.

There were a couple of strands of garland that had seen better days and a string of lights better suited for a choker than to decorate a tree. But just underneath were a couple of boxes of glass balls; some frosted, some painted, some smooth and sleek. A garden of primary colors, baubles hung from steel hooks, took residence on Billy's meager fake tree.

Next Billy found his old Santa ornaments, tried to gauge how long it had been since he'd let them welcome a holiday morning. Over the years many had been lost but these few remained, now sporting frayed cloth faces and sparse cotton beards. He held them in his hand for a moment, remembering Christmases from a far too distant past. Viggo's hands squeezed Billy's shoulders, the weight a welcome intrusion on his thoughts. They were added to the tree, their tattered smiles turned toward the room.

More items were uncovered from the dusty box. Old stockings that reeked of a past encounter with some kind of alcoholic beverage; a plastic strand of ivy, the edges so sharp they could cause injury; a string of letters that now read M E R Y C H I S T M S. Suddenly Viggo dove into the box with a shout.

"Hey, it's Rudolph and ... what was her name? Carmen? Connie?"

Billy smiled at Viggo's enthusiasm, watched as his eyes shifted closer to iridescent blue.

"Claire, I think?"

"Clarice!" They declared in unison, then dissolved into peals laughter. _Could it be as simple as this?_ Billy wondered as he watched Viggo place the figurines on one of the end tables, trying to make it look like the two reindeer were sharing a kiss. It **shouldn't** be this easy. Not after so many years of awkward silences, mixed messages and unintentional hurts. But here they were, the world aligned just so, one more chance in a sea of lost opportunities.

Billy fished through the box and found another reindeer, like Rudolph but without the large covered nose, then moved over to the table and replaced Clarice with the young buck.

Viggo tried to laugh but it came out as nothing more than a weak huff. "We probably belong on the island of misfit toys," he mumbled. "I'm gonna go check on the egg nog." Billy watched him leave the room, the atmosphere sliding somewhere between icy and stifling. He thought of mentioning there wasn't anything to check but decided Viggo didn't need to be told the obvious. Billy looked down at the table, tried to push all the wrong turns and dead ends from his mind. Trying to say it with toys was lame for so many reasons, and Billy suppressed an audible sigh, internally berating himself for the umpteenth time as he put Clarice back in her rightful place.

 _He needs the words,_ he reminded himself, _so just ask him already!_

# # #

The windows framed a cold early evening tableau, neighbors' holiday lights twinkling across courtyards still devoid of snow. Another year without a white Christmas, and Billy suddenly realized how much he missed it, especially this year. What better way to end this dysfunctional part of their lives, let its crispness cleanse them for new beginnings. The child in his soul quietly wished for a startling change in forecast and waking up to mountains of wintry splendor.

Viggo plopped down on the far side of the couch, a fistful of candy canes in his hand. His lips looked sticky from the one he had obviously already been sucking on, the remains now crunching happily in his mouth.

"I thought we'd put them on the tree but I'd rather eat them instead." He smiled a pink-tinged smile and Billy couldn't help but laugh.

"Where'd you get those?"

"Brought 'em with me."

"You're like a Christmas elf or something. You're Fezziwig."

"Does that make you Scrooge?"

"Just as long as I'm not Tiny Tim I don't care."

Viggo's smile broadened and he handed Billy a few of the peppermint sticks. Billy looked at them, remembered a Christmas from not that long ago when they'd played little drummer boy with these cane's longer cousins. He looked back up and saw the memory reflected in Viggo's eyes.

"I was surprised you came," Billy said, his voice slow and soft.

"I noticed."

"I'm glad you're here."

"Are you?"

"Of course; very much." The words came in a rush, desperate to be heard and believed. Viggo looked at him for a moment, the full weight of the appraisal searing Billy's skin.

"I'm glad I'm here too."

Billy's head was filled with words and phrases and declarations, so many ways of offering what should have been put on the table years ago. He looked around the room, marveled at how Viggo had taken his motley collection of decorations and turned his home into something beautiful. This was always the result of Viggo's presence in his life, good times or bad. And now he was here, they were **both** here, and he could truly see for the first time in years.

"Will you stay?"

Viggo's eyes turned downward, focused on his lap. His jaw methodically clenched and relaxed as his fingers absently played with the sticks in his hand. The clock on the wall set a steady beat, the radiator ticked and hissed, a perpetual countdown to an uncertain future. One of the dog's whuffled contentedly in its sleep and the wind chimes on the balcony could just be heard above the booming silence in the room. Finally Viggo exhaled loudly, a long push of breath through tense muscles, and at last he met Billy's gaze, his eyes more clear and unguarded than they'd ever been.

"I've waited a long time."

"I know."

"I could ask why."

"Don't think I could answer."

Viggo smiled. "Not important, anyway." He reached across and Billy met him halfway, their hands clasped on the cushion between them.

"How long d'you think it would take to make room for my shit in that office of yours?"

Billy laughed. "We may have to move."

"Three bedrooms at a minimum."

"And maybe a place with a back garden."

"Bigger kitchen."

Billy took a firmer hold of Viggo's hand. "Until then?"

"We'll just have to make do with the space we have."

"Aye," Billy agreed, his eyes shining. "I think it'll do nicely."


End file.
